


The Lost Children

by Windcage



Series: Castling [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windcage/pseuds/Windcage
Summary: Collection of one-shots offering a glimpse into Ben Solo, Finn and Rey's childhoods.Leading to Redemption. Can be read individually.Starting with Finn trying to get Slip and Nines out of a very ill-advised adventure into Officer's Academy.





	The Lost Children

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Jojo1112, who worked a miracle and managed to convince me to stop getting cold feet about publishing this one.

# The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

"We are not doing this.”

“Getting scared, Eight-Seven?”

“I’m not scared, this is just—!”

A light broke from the darkened path beyond the line of trees, its beam flying over the blanket of dry leaves and broken twigs on the ground as it moved between the trees, stopping over a section of dense bushes. Neck stretched to try and look beyond them, the armored soldier holding the light traded a quick glance with his colleague.

“Did you hear that?”

The second stormtrooper shrugged, dropping his blaster slightly.

“Wind. Some critter. An army of tiny ass bears coming for our blood—” he sighed, shaking his head. At his side, his colleague looked at him, incredulous. “With my luck all three of them.”

“Shouldn’t we investigate?”

“It’s probably the first.” He turned to continue the patrol. “Also, Endor. I will investigate that forest with a flamethrower.”

Lying on the ground, hiding just behind the same bushes the soldiers’ blasters had been pointing towards, FN-2187 raised his head, brown eyes observing as the soldiers moved away, locked in a quiet discussion. Then, he turned to the two boys lying at his side, voice little more than a whisper.

“We will get caught,” he told them.

This discussion had been going on from more than an hour. From the very moment he had awoken to find his two friends sliding down a makeshift rope dangling out of the dormitory window and was not, it seemed, going to end anytime soon.

“We won’t get caught,” the farthest of the boys replied, taking leaves out of his short hair, attention never leaving the large training ground beyond the forest limits. “We are stormtroopers.”

“We are  _not_  stormtroopers,” Eight-Seven snapped, nostrils flaring, right hand pointing at the patrol. “They are.”

“Campus security, with some really bad commanding officer. Have you noticed the patrols?”

Of course, he had noticed the patrols! There was no way they could have been lying here for as long as they had and not having noticed the patrols! That was neither here nor there!

“The patrols don’t change a thing!” he stated, adamant, and trying, for what must be the umpteenth time, to discourage them from their plan, he turned to the closest of the boys, the short, blond boy that was his best friend. “Come on, Slip. We will end going there anyway.”

Hazel eyes going over the marble white building of Officer’s Academy on the other side of the field, the cold night air softly hitting the red and black flags embellishing its façade, Slip looked hopeful for an instant—the next, a shadow of sadness washed over his face, leaving Eight-Seven fighting to say something, guilt twisting his stomach, as the boy he had been talking to previously glared daggers at him.

_I didn’t mean to—_

Sensing the suddenly tense atmosphere, Slip turned to face the two of them one at a time, a playful smile rapidly filling his expression, excitement sweeping the sadness off his face.

“Do you really think anyone in their right mind would give a command to Nines?” he joked.

Said redhead made a gesture to kick Slip only for the blow to so completely miss him it instead struck Eight-Seven.

“Damn it, Nines!”

“Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound sorry  _at all_. In fact, he sounded so unapologetic that, massaging his leg, Eight-Seven was rapidly becoming convinced he had been the target from the start.

 _Okay, so I kind of deserved it._  

Even so, there was no need to strike as hard as this!

“You will come won’t you?” Slip asked, softly, voice breaking through his thoughts. “It won’t be as fun if you don’t.”

Eight-Seven hesitated, facing the hazel eyes, guilt still twisting his stomach, then—

“It won’t be fun. We will get caught,” he was practically begging now. “Please, Slip, lets go back.”

Doubt filled Slip’s face, noticing it Nines rolled his eyes, supporting his head in one hand. He was older than them, not by much but it was enough that one had but to look at him to notice.

“It’s easy to slip passed the patrols,” Nines stated, attention momentarily focusing on them.

Slip’s expression grew excited again.

“It is?”

 _Oh great._  He was going to kill Nines. In fact, if he was as sure with his blows as his friend always was, he would be answering that kick of his with one of his own.

“It isn’t easy,” he snapped, talking over Nines explanation of how to get to the building. “The patrols are all messed up  _but_ —”

Nines pointed towards a path running parallel to the main building of the Academy, the one that lead to the building’s front courtyard, feigning deafness.

“Next patrol will come through there and do the small circuit next to the walls,” he was saying. “They will be appearing—Now!”

Even if he didn’t wish to, Eight-Seven found himself turning his attention to the stone path, waiting expectantly for the patrols to appear.

They didn’t.

“Impressive, Nines.”

His friend wasn’t taken aback in the slightest though, turning to them with one of his deeply charming smiles. Eight-Seven let his head drop, forehead touching the ground. Nothing good would come of this.

“At least, we have more time instead of less,” Nines said, dismissively, smile only growing when the patrol he had mentioned finally appeared and started making its way along the white wall. “Have I ever got you two into trouble?”

“Yes," Eight-Seven groaned, despaired.

Slip's eyes were gleaming with excitement all the same, though. He too hadn’t missed the soldiers, his eyes went from Eight-Seven to Nines and back to Eight-Seven. He looked hopeful.

“You  _are_ coming too.”

“No.”

“He is coming.” Nines replied, expression losing its playful expression as he focused on the soldiers, observing them until his chosen path entered the helmet’s blind angle. “When I say go. We run.”

“No-no-no–!”

“Go!”

They were off before Eight-Seven could do anything to grab them, both getting up in a flash, jumping over the bushes and sprinting passed the dirt track running close to the forest.

Left alone in their former hideout, incapable of looking away from his two friends as they ran across the training grounds aiming to hide under one of the two grey TIE Fighters half buried in the middle of it, Eight-Seven could do little more than observe, stomach dropping in horror as, out of nowhere, a second patrol appeared at the end of the white building.

Biting his lips, looking for something— _anything!_ —that he could use to turn the soldiers attention away from Slip and Nines, Eight Seven crawled out from behind the bushes, neck twisted to follow his friends, and tried to grab a large branch half sunk in the pond behind him. A simple tug was enough to discover it was far too heavy to move, much less do anything with it.

Nines and Slip were reaching the TIEs as Eight-Seven looked around, frantic and far too conscious of the patrol stopping, blasters raised as the very distinct sound of the boys sliding over the small pebbles around the TIEs—a large puff of dust rising behind them—echoed in the absurdly silent night. They were crawling under the buried ship’s connection arm now, disappearing behind the reactor. The soldiers were already moving their way, body language speaking of a clear knowledge someone was there.

Hands digging among the leafs, trying to find something that could be used to distract the patrol from his friends positions, Eight-Seven was all but going by touch, absolutely incapable of looking away from the impending disaster. One of soldiers was pointing to the ground, blaster describing a sweeping movement towards what could only be marks on the floor and then signaling towards the TIEs.

Eight-Seven felt his stomach drop as he watched them creep closer to the ship, his hands hitting a series of round objects as one of the soldiers dropped to one knee, trying to look under the connection arm.

That was it. They were going to get caught. They were going to get caught and that was on top of the officers in charge of the dormitories raising hell for finding them missing! Why couldn’t he ever dissuade them of doing these kinds of things? Why were they always running around with crazy ideas?

Eight-Seven stopped, the sound of the soldiers boots crushing the small stones around the TIEs making him aware of what it was that his hands were running over. These round things under the browned leafs, those were—

_Peebles!_

Immediately, his attention jumped up, towards the tree branches.

_Please, please, please, let it work._

Rapidly collecting a handful of the small stones, he threw them up, covering his head as, after hitting the tree branches, they fell back down, raining over him at the same time as a half scared, half infuriated sound of wings and squawks came from over him.

Immediately, the soldiers looked up and away from the TIEs. The one that was on his feet made a short sign for his colleague to continue searching as he observed the birds, hand half risen to the communicator in his helmet, pondering what to do.

Their small distraction was enough, however. Slip and Nines were crawling out from the other end of the TIE, Nines giving Eight-Seven a very clear thumbs up that all but floored his hopes of seeing them grow some sense and turn back. Peeking from behind the TIE, they were now moving again in the direction of the Academy’s door, the high squawks covering their footsteps.

Why,  _why_ did he even—?

His body tensed, in a flash Eight-Seven had risen, rapidly moving away from the bushes and the small pound. The soldiers were on the move. Marching towards the forest. Towards him.

_Oh great!_

And now he was the one running, begging that the soldiers had not yet been equipped with those new prototype helmets that they had been shown some days ago because if they  _did,_ they would have this absolutely ridiculous image of him scrambling for cover through night vision.

_How did I end up in this?_

Why couldn’t he have remained asleep unaware of Slip and Nines jumping out the window? Why did he have to go running after them? Why did he always do this?

_Don’t I learn?_

Almost tripping over a large stone, Eight-Seven jumped behind a tree, observing as, some thirty meters or so away, the two soldiers approached the forest, moonlight reflecting off their white armors. Contrary to their colleagues just some minutes ago, these two did step over the threshold, marching to stand under the trees, the one to the left approaching the bushes the trio had been hiding behind and forcing his blaster between the branches to inspect the space.

“Clear,” he announced as the second stormtrooper went around the pound, inspecting the darkness beyond the tree trunks. The word would actually be calming was not for what came next. “Someone is running around on the grounds. Report it.”

Eight-Seven almost bit his tongue with the effort not to growl in despair at that. If they weren’t caught before, now they were caught for certain, the minute someone raised the alarm there would be carriers raining soldiers over the Academy. He had to do something.

Head turning towards the white building, expression nervous but resolute, he observed as the patrol walked back towards the building, rapidly studying his options, eyes almost immediately crashing into an open window in the ground floor.

Okay, so to keep this simple. He was going in, find Slip and Nines, drag them back to the dormitories and they would lie in bed, acting innocent and pretending to never have left while the officers screamed everyone’s ears off for hours.

It was perfect.

* * *

 

_It is actually the worse plan I could have came up with._

Finding himself walking around the darkened, seemingly endless, corridors of the Academy, Eight-Seven could do little more than shake his head as he peered inside the rooms, eyes surveying tactical tables and chairs, almost praying to crash directly into his friends so that he could drag them through the courtyard before a worse disaster than the one they had almost caused could crash onto them.

Truth was it had taken him triple the time to get to the Academy’s building as it had Slip and Nines. He had gotten “stuck” hiding under one of the obstacles from the obstacle course in the courtyard, unable to reach the window he had been aiming towards as three or four patrols made their way across the courtyard and then turned back, snarling against some  _‘genius kid who won’t pick up the com’_  as they marched towards the three buildings—what looked a lot like dormitories, some of their lights still being on—standing in the terrains to the left of the Academy.

He might know close to nothing about this place, but he sure as hell knew what that stood for. The soldiers had gone for an officer. They were screwed if they remained here.

_I’m getting Slip and Nines and we are out._

He kept going, half jogging down the corridor until it opened to a very large atrium with some weird pattern for floor, one that judging by the enormous door and the landing pads and ships beyond the windows lead to the front courtyard. Careful not to approach the windows, Eight-Seven looked around, heart dropping as he looked up to find the flights of stairs leading up not to just a second floor but a third one.

_How big is this?!_

A shadow broke through the columns of moonlight coming through the windows, voices muffled by helmets followed by a commanding female one that made Eight-Seven sprint up the flight of stairs.

“Who was left responsible for the patrols?”

Apparently the soldiers remained unable to contact whoever that was, but having ran up to the third floor, eyes flying over the line of busts appearing from behind several niches between the windows of the two corridors and then back towards the entryway, Eight-Seven was no longer paying attention, attention captured by the atrium floor, the weird pattern he had seen suddenly making sense.

He was standing over a star chart.

He remained frozen for an instant, staring at the ground floor, eyes growing wider as he went over it, trying to memorize it, desperately hoping something would look familiar—and almost jumping out of his skin when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

It was luck his mind was still partially at the soldiers on the other side of the door for, otherwise, he would seriously have punched the living daylights out of whoever was standing behind him. Of course, turning to see Nines, alone and standing right behind him, made him wish he had.

“Where is Slip?!”

“I lost him,” Nines deadpan, turning towards the shorter boy, walking backwards, now coming out of the corridor to their left. “I told you he would come.”

Slip turned immediately, looking overly excited when he found Eight-Seven standing there.

“You have to see this! It’s so cool and…”

He was not hearing, rapidly grabbing Slip’s wrist and pulling him in the direction of the stairs.

“They know we are here. Let’s go!” The absence of a second set of footsteps following him, made him start to turn, urgently. “ _Nines!_ ”

“Just finishing something.”

The sooner he said that the sooner an ear deafening smash came from behind them. Heart pounding, Eight-Seven turned to find that the first of the line of busts on the corridor to his right was on the floor next to his friend’s feet, nose broken by its face first meeting with the floor.

He could have died.

“What did you  _do_?!”

The voices outside the door had fallen silent, footsteps approaching the door, the beeping of a security lock rising in the silence—

“Pick it up!” he ordered, dragging Slip behind him as he ran towards Nines, rapidly kicking not only the bust’s nose, but also a large piece of marble under the curtain around the niche it had been on. “Pick it up, now!”

Even between the three of them and with half its head gone, the bust was horribly heavy, the polished surface making it continuously slid off their hands as, muscles strained, they entered the opposite corridor the statue had been on, going down it, passing by a never ending gallery of Imperial officer’s busts as the footsteps and voices got closer.

“We have to hide,” Eight-Seven found a way of saying, eyes going to the end of the corridor were the atrium was and immediately ramming into the bust.

_Why have we stopped?!_

Eight-Seven looked up, finding Nines gazing down the hall looking more confused than anything. Almost unable to breathe from the effort, Eight-Seven forced himself to talk.

“W—What?”

“Where?”

He had to be kidding!

“Anywhere!”

And they were moving again, to hide inside the closest classroom. They made it just in time. Putting the bust in the floor, patting as they squeezed themselves under a table right next to the door, they could hear the footsteps approaching, voices getting clearer as they did. The only good thing in this it seemed was that whoever was inside really didn’t seem to be interested in them.

“You could have chosen  _anything_ ,” the same female voice from before was saying, a second voice, this one male and clearly not belonging to a soldier, snapping right back at her words.

“Why are we still going over this?”

Eight-Seven took a deep breath, trading a quick glance with his two friends as they pressed themselves against each other, Slip closing his eyes, Nines his fists, all three of them trying to be quiet as the female once again talked.

“It’s important.”

“It’s  _decided._ Also, this must be the first time you are on that bastard’s  _side_.”

“I don’t care what side he is on. To have you fixing an engine is a waste.”

For a moment, their footsteps were the only thing echoing down the corridor, then they stopped, two dark figures hovering just outside the door to the classroom. There was little to be concluded from their shadows, their voices on the other hand…

“What would you have me do?” the male asked, there was something inherently authoritarian in his tone, a note of impatience under its overall calm demeanor. He didn’t sound anything like the officers in the Stormtrooper Program, however. Now, the female—

“ _Executioner_ , Operations Control. That was a tactical position.” She sounded exactly like a stormtrooper officer, even if she couldn’t possibly be one. “From there to having your own command would be a question of time.”

Eight-Seven blinked at those words, eyes rapidly falling on Slip who had just elbowed him.

“Students.” His friend mouthed, surprised, as the male voice rose again.

“The  _Resurgent Class_  is not yet ready to leave dock, I will not be on board some rundown Star Destroyer going over combat simulations and organizing patrols while we build our numbers. When the order to strike comes, I  _will_ be there.”

The female voice sounded somewhat impatient as she gave her retort to that.

“You signed up for  _Engineering_.”

“You signed up for a junior station in some hell hole.”

“Trillia is where I’m needed. Engineering is tossing your talent aside,” she stopped, clearly swallowing her irritation and proceeding in a tone that sounded only mildly interested. “What does Admiral Sloane say of this?”

“Why must you bring her up?”

“Did she approve of your decision?”

“She  _supported_  it,” the male stated, defensive. “Not that I didn’t manage to disappoint her as well. Has I do everyone. I wonder if there is a position available for  _that_?”

Silence. An uncomfortably long one as the two figures stood facing each other, the words that still echoed down the empty academy leaving one of the shadows to pinch the bridge of its nose and the other to uncross its arms, stepping closer to its companion and seeming to lose its courage before it had an opportunity to reach out to him.

“That was-It was not aimed at you,” the male finally said, words breaking the silence as Eight-Seven leaned over Slip, seeing as his friend too had dropped his eyes, something that looked a painful lot like understanding on his face. “Look… First strike won’t come from a Star Destroyer or the fleet. Project Director is a far more interesting position to hold than sitting in a Star Destroyer’s bridge organizing patrols. Also, I can have both, if I play my cards right.”

One of the shadows painted on the floor, the shorter of the two, turned to leave, voice going back to its initial confident tone.

“The _Annihilator_  isn’t that bad, by the way.”

“It has a good commanding officer?” she asked, still sounding belligerent but moving to follow.

“Who is at least eighty.”

Nines snorted. Eight-Seven would have kicked him that same instant if the female’s shadow hadn’t stopped, listening.

“Something wrong?” the male asked, footsteps stopping at some distance as she looked around.

“No, I…”

She seemed to turn towards the windows as she spoke, then stopped looking at what could only be one of the busts, voice going from suspicious to downright virulent.

“Armitage.” A pause as the second figure came back into view. “Was General Veers here?”

Her companion seemed to hesitate as he looked to both sides of the corridor.

“It makes no sense that he was.”

It was all it took. The same moment Eight-Seven turned to his to friends, nostrils flaring, the pair had disappeared down the corridor.

Great. This day just kept getting better and better!

“What did she mean by ‘ _was General Veers here’_?” he queried, eyes stopping at the bust. “What were you doing with this thing?”

Slip looked from Nines to him.

“You know.”

No, he didn’t know and Slip looked downright surprised at this display of ignorance.

“We are supposed to switch some of the busts around and then return to the dormitories without getting caught.”

_What?_

“Why?”

“To see how long until they notice. Everyone does it.”

Eight-Seven raised his eyebrows. He had never heard of such a thing. Which, come to think of it, left him with this nagging feeling that–

“Who told you this?” he queried, suspiciously.

Slip turned to Nines, forcing Eight-Seven to pinch his nose. He knew it. He bloody knew it!

“You made that up!”

Nines’ freckled face was rapidly turning as red as his hair.

“All great traditions have to start somewhere.”

This was not happening. This was so  _not_ happening.

“We were going to be scrubbing bathrooms forever,” Eight-Seven muttered. “Our battalion insignia is going to be a toilet brush.”

Slip and Nines traded a quick, worried glance.

“He is losing it,” Nines sentenced.

“What do we do?”

“What do we—? Why do I have to always be the one saving both your butts?!”

“Our three, in fact,” Nines corrected him. “It’s kind of a collective.”

Slip chuckled. He wasn’t the only one. Despite everything, Eight-Seven snorted.

“We have to get out.”

Nines was up in the same instant.

“We can jump out the window.”

It was as bad an idea as it sounded. Worse considering the three of them found themselves in the corridor lifting the bust to the parapet to throw it down. Looking at the noseless face right before it fell, hearing it break as it hit the bushes and then the floor, Eight-Seven could only beg for one thing—

_Let this not be Emperor Palpatine._

If it was they would get haunted, cursed or worse. Before that, however, they were apparently going to break their necks.

“Any last words?” Nines asked, looking down. The third floor was way, way higher than he had expected apparently.

“Can’t we just go around?” Slip queried, nervously. “We can get passed them, you know. We are stormtroopers.”

“We are  _not_  stormtroopers,” Eight-Seven groaned, desperate.

“We are stormtroopers,” Nines replied, seemingly having some serious misgivings about his plan-like an hour or so after he should have had them. “I’m with Slip. They are fleet, it can’t be that hard.”

“I don’t think she is fleet.” Slip muttered, biting his lips.

“Then she is a pilot or something. Let’s avoid her anyway, the Armitage guy seems doable.”

“Yes,” Eight-Seven growled. “Because the guy who is aiming for Project Director  _and_  a Star Destroyer is the person you want to mess up with!”

“Can we not mess with any of them?” Slip begged, peeking down to the hall.

There was no discussing that—and really this jumping out of the window thing was looking worse by the second. Not that turning back was looking much more promising, to be honest. There were voices coming up from the entryway. Muffled ones. He had no idea why the soldiers were not patrolling the corridors but they were at the atrium. They had little other choice than follow in the footsteps of the duo that the soldiers had gone for, ears open from any sign of them coming back.

That they were able to reach the ground floor, ran out to the Academy’s grounds and go around the building to grab hold of the now horribly decapitated bust, was nothing short of a miracle.

“We  _so_  have to hide this,” Eight-Seven muttered, the stone eyes glaring furiously at him from behind the bushes. “Pick it—”

High over them, one of the Academy’s searchlights suddenly came to live, its shining almost blinding light followed by dozens others turning on all over the grounds. At his side, Nines cursed, Slip giving them a very weird look as the three of them dived to grab hold of the shoulders and detached, noseless head.

“I swear,” Nines breathed, taking notice of Slip’s expression, marble head under one arm. “If you manage to get separated from us while carrying a statue you have a gift.”

They were running, a voice suddenly rising behind them as they approached the forest, shouting for them to stop and then, to their horror, making a long red light fly passed them.

“Did they just fire?!”

The shot hit one of the lights, plunging the terrain around them into darkness as Eight-Seven risked a look back, finding someone suddenly appearing at one of the Academy’s second floor windows, throwing it open and…

“She is so  _not_  a pilot!”

“You jumped.”

“It was calculated.”

“It was a second floor window.”

The whispered conversation was coming from right under them, rising in the same male and female voices from before as the stormtroopers swept the Academy’s training grounds, shouts of ‘clear’ raising from the patch of deep darkness around them.

“So?”

A pause, followed by the two dark figures appearing from under the obstacle, backs cut against the night, the one to the left—Armitage—shaking his head.

“What are you even made of?”

Lying to Eight-Seven’s left, Nines pointed down, mouthing an absolutely quiet  _“My point”_ as the two figures finally walked away from their hideout–one of the high obstacles of the Academy’s obstacle course. They had been lucky to be able to hide here. More so considering that the two patrols that had so far looked up had deemed it unnecessary to search where they stood. It was also luck that the warning shot had hit the light for that had given them enough time to drop the bust and climb here, otherwise, they would be being shipped to Stormtrooper Program Facility in irons.

“Plan?”

Eight-Seven frowned, looking over the open field of the Academy’s back courtyard and then at the forest, before turning to Nines.

“You are good at memorizing patrols.”

Nines looked around—

“You know they aren’t patrolling, right?”

—even so he focused in the soldiers, not even turning when, speaking in little more than a whisper, Slip called their attention to the two dark figures now standing at the distance. It was absolutely impossible to see their faces or uniforms, but…

“She is a stormtrooper.”

“She can’t be.”

Slip was biting his lips, looking at the woman’s back in absolute awe.

“She is.”

“I don’t care what she is as long as we put a mile between us and them,” Nines whispered, straining his eyes as he went over the dozen or so stormtroopers walking around the grounds. “They are spreading out. We have blind angles.”

Careful as not to be heard, they slid down the edge of the obstacle, hitting the sand around it and rapidly unearthing the two-piece bust. Forcing his attention away from the two figures in the distance, Slip frowned again at it, opening his mouth to say something but ending up leaning down to help Eight-Seven, choosing silence instead.

Silently, taking a deep breath, they started crossing the grounds, minds set on the forest, in crossing what was left of the Academy’s grounds and–

The three of them froze for an instant, the sound of something snapping under their boots making Eight-Seven look down to find the three of them standing right over what was left of the shot down lamp. What came next was to be expected. The soldiers were turning, the two dark figures in the distance mimicking their movements–

“Stop!”

And now they were seriously running, bust and all, towards the forest, what looked like a tidal wave of white raising their weapons towards—

“Don’t fire!”

Not that _he_ saying that was a big consolation, when  _she_ was diving in pursuit. And she was fast.

They were sprinting as fast as they could—or, at least, doing whatever was that one did when trying to run away with a thrice damned marble stone in their hands–the forest getting closer and then opening in front of them as they went. Twigs snapped under their feet. The bushes they had been hiding under an hour or so ago coming into view and then the pound. Seemingly without thinking, Nines threw the bust head inside.

Hearing footsteps coming closer and closer, Eight-Seven was not about to question his friend logic. With a huge splash the base joined the head inside the pound and now they were truly running. Trying to get away from not one but a multitude of footsteps and voices following behind them. It took it seemed an eternity of zigzagging between the trees for their followers to give up on their pursuit, other even longer one for the buildings of the Stormtrooper Program facility to came into view.

They were standing, panting next to the rope coming out of one of the windows, when, still grabbing hold of one of Slip’s wrists, Eight-Seven found him giving him a strange look.

“W—What?”

Slip grabbed hold of the rope, panting.

“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to leave the head inside?”

Eight-Seven and Nines looked at each other, eyes full of clarity.

They were idiots.

#  **Epilogue**

“Did you find them?”

Twigs were snapping under his boots as Armitage advanced, his query, directed at the tall figure standing next to a pound, climbing up the line of trees, too loud in the silent night.

“They escaped?”

Phasma turned her head his way, expression neutral, one hand pointing his attention not to the forest, but to something in the water. Armitage closed his eyes, approaching her with long strides. If someone had gone and drowned it would be hell to—

He felt himself freeze. Shock leaving him staring at the pound, unable to form any sort of coherent thought. There truly was a face in the water. A white marble face, broken and disfigured but he—He knew those eyes. He knew that face. He could see himself in them.

Phasma leaned over his ear, speaking in little more than a whisper.

“Isn’t that the Commandant?”

A shiver ran through his spine at her words and then something else did, tickling in the back of his throat mercilessly, making him laugh. Phasma raised her eyebrows, studying him as he looked around, taking in the pound, the forest, the returning soldiers and the visible lack of any captured prey.

A malicious smirk had taken over his expression when he leaned in Phasma’s direction.

“We saw nothing."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Ben and a flying lesson with Han Solo that doesn't go as planned.


End file.
